


always keeps his promises

by technotraitor



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, Dream Smp, Family Dynamics, Sibling, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28780848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technotraitor/pseuds/technotraitor
Summary: phil killed wilbur, now he's bringing him back. no matter the consequences, no matter what pain it'll cause the ones that loves him, he will bring back his son. he promised technoblade he would get him his brother back. and, well, phil always keeps his promises.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62





	1. give my life for you

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a short writing piece on twitter, that i decided to extend into an actual book! this is very angtsy, and the first chapter includes in depth description of blood and violence. if that upsets you, i recommend skipping the first chapter this is my very first ao3 fic, so it may be a bit rusty, but i am, very proud of how this turned out. there may also be typos, and im sorry for that.

he still remembered the moment it happened. he remembered it hauntingly well. every time he closed his eyes he could see the mixture of insanity and begging in his son’s eyes, body silhouetted by the nation he’d just blown up. he would never forget how it felt to hold his son’s dying body, sword jutting out of his stomach, the same sword he had been holding seconds prior. it haunted him, made him shoot up in a sweat in the dead of the night. 

and, god, he would never forget the way techno broke down after hearing the news. never had phil seen techno crumble that way, his knees connecting with the solid ground, pain evident in his cries. the scream that tore past techno’s lips haunted phil whenever the world fell silent around him. tommy found out on his own, and phil never failed to see the unmistakable anger in the teen’s eyes, always directed to him. it hurt him to know he was the cause of his sons’ pain and anger, hurt him more than he could describe. that’s why he promised that he would do anything, absolutely anything, to bring wilbur back. he just wanted his kids to be happy.

l’manburg was quiet nowadays, even with the new townsfolk moving in, it was always quiet. it was situated over the crater that wilbur had created, built on stilts crafted out of wood. phil helped with the building, a lot, and tubbo was thankful he could depend on the elder man for help. phil always thought that helping the president would make up for the destruction his sons had caused upon the land. 

maybe he should have known it wouldn't make up for their actions, that they’d remain sickeningly infuriated with the two. that wasn't the main cause of phil’s rage, however, instead, it was the lack of monuments for wilbur soot, compared to the luxurious one that had been built for jschlatt. it made phil angry, so so angry, to see his son’s hard work to start this nation be thrown to the ground like it meant nothing, when really, wilbur was the only reason l’manburg existed. that’s why he raged at the cabinet at midday, in front of every citizen of the town.

“phil, we understand your anger-”

“i don’t think you do.” he interrupted, casting the 19 year old an unreadable look. how did a group of teenagers become in charge of an entire nation? though phil felt pity for them, the building rage was stronger. “if you understood my anger you’d listen to me. wil started this entire nation, he started it, built it from the ground up, and there is nothing to commemorate him.” 

startled by his rage, tubbo found himself looking over to where schlatt’s memorial was built into the mountain. he understood phil’s anger, truly, but they couldn't have a memorial for the man who blew up their entire nation. “phil, i really understand, but wilbur did blow up this entire area with hundreds of tnt.” he tried to sound reasonable, try and get his point across to phil, but at the end of the day, he knew it was useless. 

of course that was the point they fixated on. it always was. forget every single good thing wilbur did for the country, because he blew it up, because they made him descend into madness. “so, tubbo, if wilbur was standing here, would you tell him everything he ever did was for nothing?” his question left the cabinet speechless, as they stared back at his unphased expression, not daring to look at him. “that’s what i thought. you’re president now, tubbo, you cant be playing favourites.” his words replayed in the cabinets’ heads as he walked away. his words always stopped them in their track, for days, they’d sometimes stare off at the memorial for schlatt, brows furrowed and heart aching. good old philza and his way with words.

techno never knew if he should be proud or disappointed in his father. they had always been close, and techno had always been thankful for that. thanks to his dad, he had always had an amazing childhood. even when techno grew older, to that very day, phil had been nothing but an amazing father to him. but when dream turned up to his house at 11pm, asking to speak to phil, techno began to question what phil’s current intentions were.

he’d been kicked out of the room they were talking in, condemned to the tiny attic he had made his bedroom. techno had sat there for an hour, watching the snow fall outside, a book in hand that he didn’t even want to read. phil knew techno was an active guy, hating to sit around for too long, so he would be lying if he said it didn’t slightly annoy him that phil had locked him in a room with no activity.

the conversation that followed dream’s departure could only be described as tense. phil sat himself on techno’s bed, diving head first into explanation. “remember how i talked to you a while back about how i wanted to bring your brother back?” techno hated the way phil was speaking to him, like he was a baby that needed everything simplified. “well, dream said he thinks he knows a way to bring him back. soon.” that caught techno’s attention, and he stared up at his dad, both confused and intrigued. “i’ll let you know if i get any updates.”

with a sick feeling clawing at his stomach, techno nodded and forced a smile onto his face. he knew dream well enough to know there was always a catch. dream hated their family, he always had, finding some reason to hold a grudge against them. he would never willingly give them a way to bring wilbur back with no catch, with no consequence. dream was a manipulator, and he was a good one; he knew how to lead you on, how to make you fall into his trap with kind smiles and reassuring words, and he especially knew how to turn it all around when you were least expecting it. techno knew dream too well. and he knew his dad to well, he could recognise the look in his eyes. he knew when phil was lying, when he was hiding something of importance. and right then, it that moment, he was doing both of those things. 

it drove techno crazy, to be constantly thinking of questions he couldn’t get the answer to. it'd been three days since phil had told him the news, and it had been creating a whirlwind in his mind ever since. he couldn't stop thinking about it, and the tone of his voice, and the look in his eyes. everything about the conversation sent his mind running, anxiety causing a shake in his hands. techno knew never to question his father, but he also knew that what he was doing currently was dangerous. he also knew phil only had one life remaining, the other two being rid by a fall when his wing had become injured mid flight and the other when he was mining and a baby zombie crept up on him. that information he held made the situation a lot scarier. 

sometimes techno would catch phil reading the same letter over and over. he had received it a day after dream’s visit, and scolded techno when he tried to read it from over his shoulder. since then, phil hid it, but techno always caught him reading it with a bounce in his leg and a worried look in his eye. but it all disappeared when he saw techno approaching. 

phil hated that he had to hide things from techno, but in that moment, it was the only answer. he, himself, had no idea what to do in the upcoming days of dream’s arrival. it plagued his mind, kept him up at night, made him withdraw from techno. it made him feel like a shit father, to see techno duck his head and frown whenever he passed by his son without saying a word. that's all phil had been recently: a shit father, who had killed one of his sons, never visited the second one when he losing all hope in exile, and never had time for the other. he was unsure if that was why he made his decision so quick, or if it was the repeating nightmare of sticking a sword through his son that did.

but, either way, he made his choice.

he knew techno would be displeased, so hid it from him until the moment became dire. that being when dream knocked on their door, demanding an answer from phil. this time, techno stood there, concern evident as he hovered behind his father. “i want to do it.”

dream‘s smirk wasn't visible through the mark, but phil could see through the change in his demeanor, that he had just given dream the win that he was craving. he had passed it to him, wrapped in shiny wrapping with a bow on the top. and it made him want to throw up. he fought back the urge to yell when he took the bag dream held out with a hesitant grip.

“dad, whats going on?” techno reached out a hand to grab his father’s arm, but hesitated, and dropped it back to his side. “what are you doing?”

it only took a moment for dream to realise, and he chuckled. the glow of his eyes darkened.through the crack in his mask when his eyes squinted. “oh? you never told him?” the murderous glare he received from phil earnt another chuckle, and he raised his arms up in mock defence.

this time, techno did grab phil’s arm, and it was a tight grip. he refused to let go when phil tried to pry his arm away. techno was growing frantic, grabbing his arm with both hands now. “dad!” desperation laced his tone, meeting phil’s saddened eyes. “what are you doing?” his voice lowered. maybe that was because he was trying to hide the emotion in it, or because he didn’t want dream to know. but he was quiet, much quieter than he was seconds prior. 

his heart was heavy, breaths ragged. this was the moment phil was fearing the most - not when he died in just a few minutes, but having to tell his closest son he was about to, basically, kill himself to bring wilbur back. “remember when i told you dream could bring wil back?” his free hand went over techno’s that were on his arm. “he told me how to do it.” he paused, trying to take in techno’s expression. but there was nothing but fear and worry. “techno, i have to give my last life.”

techno had always been closest with his father, even compared to his brothers. his father was his favourite person, and his only friend, the only person he could trust. techno would rather jump off a cliff than have to deal with phil’s death. and phil knew that. techno always took extra precautions so phil didn’t get hurt in battle. techno would endanger himself to make sure phil didn’t get hurt. techno would give up one of his lives if it meant phil remaining by his side. techno would give the universe and more to phil.

“no.” 

phil stared at techno, lost for words. “no?” 

techno shook his head, grip tightening. he tried not to show his emotions on his face, remaining stoic. but inside, his heart was screaming, a black hole forming in the deepest pit in his stomach. just the idea of losing phil made him want to curl up in a ball, screaming and crying until his vocal cords tore. phil was his everything. he couldn't lose him he couldn't lose him he couldn't lose him he couldn't lose him. “no.” he repeated. “i’ll do it.”

cracking a small smile, phil shook his head. “it has to be me, tech.” he glanced at dream who had leant against the railings, staring at the land surrounding them. “i killed wilbur, it has to be me who brings him back.” his own heart was being torn apart. it felt like someone was mercilessly stabbing into his chest with a sword. he felt like he was already dying. he didn’t want to leave techno, not his son, not techno, alone. the thought of techno being in pain over his death made his entire body hurt.

he shook his head even more frantically. “you don’t have to do this.”

feeling his grip weaken, phil snatched his arm out of techno's grip, casting him a tight lipped smile. “yes i do.” he turned to dream, shifting the bag in his hold. his race was racing, his throat becoming tight and dry. he had to do this. if not for him, for techno. if not for him, for tommy. if not for him, for fundy. he had to do this. “dream. i’m ready.”

peeking over his shoulder, dream looked between the two - he had never seen technoblade, the blood god, look so weak and frail before. the man who was notoriously known for murdering with no emotion, was now crying, muttering pleas to his father. it looked as if it were about to drop to his knees, and literally beg for his father to come back inside. dream felt no remorse. he felt pride that he was the cause of this. “follow me.” he stepped down the stone steps, his hands linked behind his back, index tapping a tune on his palm.

phil followed him, turning when he heard techno scrambling after him. his heart dropped further. he didn’t want techno to see this. it would break him, tear him apart at the seams. with his gaze lowering, he kept walking through the snow. his palms were sweaty, panic bubbling in his chest. his throat had never felt so clogged and dry before.

“are you sure about this, phil?” dream had stopped when they were a good distance away from the house, turning to turn back to phil. “there’s no coming back after this.” dream had made it clear, multiple times, that if phil did this, he wouldn’t be able to be resurrected. the potion he had to drink stopped that, as well as the fact he had to kill himself.

phil’s breath got caught in his throat as he thought about his answer. phil just wanted his sons to be happy, together. that’s all he’s ever wanted. if they were all together, they’d be able to look after each other, love each other in ways he was unable to do. all he ever did was fuck up, treat wilbur and tommy like they meant nothing to him. but, did they need him? techno would be left alone, without him, alone in this barren land of snow. he would be completely isolated. tommy wouldn’t find out until techno or wilbur had the strength to tell him, because dream wouldn’t tell him. and god knows how tommy would react to his death. was this really the right thing to do? did he even want to do this? he would be leaving everything behind, causing his loved ones pain. but his son. he’d killed him, stabbed him, held him as he died and cried into his shoulder. all he ever wanted to do was get his son back. and now he had the chance. 

he promised techno he would get him his brother back.

phil always kept his promises.

the crunch of snow under a boot made him turn. it was techno, frail and upset, holding a shaking hand towards his dad. it broke phil apart to see techno in that state. “dad, you don’t have to do this.” dad. whenever techno called him that it made his heart churn in happiness, a grin breaking onto his face. it was common for him to, but it never failed to light up phil’s day. “we can go home, see ghostbur and tommy. they can come have dinner. please, dad, just come home,”

he didn’t want to hurt techno. he never wanted to hurt techno. but he needed to do this. “i’m sorry, tech, but i have to.” blocking out his yells of protest, phil stepped past dream, untying the bag and reaching inside for its contents. a potion that shone a dark purple, and a diamond sword that shone under the moonlight. “drink the potion then use the sword?”

dream stepped back. “yes. that order.”

“please, don’t do this.”

“i have to, tech.” phil’s shaking hands twisted the cap, discarding the metal lid aside.

techno went to step forward, dream grabbing his wrist to stop him. “please don’t leave me, dad.”

the sentence made him freeze, eyes staring into the horizon in horror. he didn’t want to. all he wanted was to go home, sit by the fire with techno as they discussed their plans to destroy l’manburg, and smile down at his son when he fell asleep on his shoulder. but he owed this to everyone wilbur’s death had hurt. “you know i love you, right, techno?” there wasn’t an answer, but techno’s quiet pleas and cries were enough for him. “don’t forget i love you, and i always have. i was a shit dad sometimes, but i’ve never stopped loving you.” he lifted the bottle to his lips and chugged the contents, wincing when techno shrieked behind him. 

dream’s grip on techno tightened, as the man desperately fought to try and get to his dad. dream gripped his arms as tight as he could, growing weak as he fought against his frantic movements. still, he felt no remorse, nor any pity.

“i’m so sorry, techno.” phil shifted his grip on the sword, holding it so it would stab right through his stomach. as techno cried out pleas, he stared up at the sky, begging for it to work. he could only pray that wilbur would return to life, safe and with all his memories. with a thrust of his arms, he felt his wrist connect with his stomach.

he didn’t know it had happened. he couldn’t feel it until techno screamed, the loudest he had ever screamed. it sounded painful, and it was. he felt his throat scratch, his vocal cords feeling as if they’d been torn. but he didn't stop screaming. phil didn’t fall to his knees until he looked down at his body, seeing only the handle of the sword, and the snow below him, once white, now red. it was then he felt the pain, when he fell to the floor, staring at his bloodied hands. the ringing in his ears was almost deafening. yet he still managed to her techno’s screams and begs over the sound of it.

techno was fighting against dream, tugging his arms out of the man’s tight hold. his words were inaudible. they were too much of a scream to be able to make out what he was saying. he had never, in his entire life, ever felt pain like that. so extreme. so emotional yet physical at the inside. he felt it clawing at his chest ruthlessly. but his muscles ached in his legs and his head pounded, he felt physically sick. everything hurt. his mind was static. he couldn’t think. he’d lost everything. he finally had thought he’d found something - someone that would be a constant in his life. but, no, it was never like that. he thought he would have phil with him forever. but he left him. just like everything else. everything leaves him. everyone leaves him.

after tugging and fighting, techno escaped dream’s grip, scrambling over to phil. he dropped to his knees beside his body, hands hovering over the corpse. he was afraid to touch him, to feel how cold he was and how he wouldn’t be able to feel a pulse. but, he grabbed his shoulders and rolled him over, his lifeless hea landing on his knees. “dad?” he whimpered, shaking his body. “please look at me.”

there wasn’t a single breath from phil.

“please.” he begged weakly, clutching the fabric on his body. he couldn’t bare to look at the sword jutting out of his gut. “please, open your eyes. wake up.” he was in hysterics as he shook his father’s body, unable to breathe properly. his breaths were jagged, chest moving up and down at much-too-fast rate. his voice shook, hands shaking. his vision was clouding over, throat sore from the amount of cries that tore through it. if phil was awake, he would be crouched in front of techno with a reassuring smile, brushing hair out of his face, breathing with him until he calmed down. but he wasn’t. he was dead in his arms. “please, i can’t do this without you.”

but there was nothing. he just remained, still, cold and pale. dead. 

his cries turned to whimpers, eyes never leaving the paled face of his father. he wa sin so much fucking pain. he’d just lost his entire universe, the one person he held above everything. he was alone, now. alone in this barren, snowy land. he’d lost everything. “i love you, dad.” as his eyes trailed down the wound, he allowed himself to accept it. accept the fact he was cradling a corpse. and it hurt so fucking bad. a part of him still hoped that phil would crack his eyes open, but he knew it wouldn’t happen.

as much as he wanted to argue, he knew phil was dead.

“techno?” the voice that came from the distance was familiar. way too familiar. techno shot his head up, heart jumping to his throat the sight before him. wilbur was stumbling towards him. he was alive. he was actually alive. he was pale, weak, bleeding. but he was alive. “where are we?” his voice was shaky, with a hint of panic mixed in with the confusion.

“wilbur.” techno breathed, unsure of what to say.

but, he knew what this meant: phil didn’t die for nothing. his dying wish came true. the reason he was dead in his arms was currently walking towards him. he died for a reason. dream didn’t lie to him.

then, wilbur stopped. his eyes were laid on phil, and techno watched as his breathing stopped. his entire being froze completely. “dad?” he quickened his pace, collapsing beside the corpse. and his face went paler than it was, hands shaking over his father’s corpse. techno saw the terror, greif, anger that fired his eyes. “what happened?”

“wilbur-”

the newly-alive man looked up to his brother with a sharp glare. “what happened to him?”


	2. my fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wilbur is brought back, though isn't the same as when he left. his dad is dead, his family fell apart. and it's his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for death mention !! this chapter gets pretty angsty and mentions multiple deaths. warning for that :)

it was warmer inside. the raging fire provided heat and comfort. but wilbur still felt cold. mentally and physically, he was cold. he couldn’t get the image of his bloodied, deceased father out of his head. techno looked like a wreck as he cradled his body, and it all numbed wilbur to the core. he wanted to scream and he wanted to cry. but he felt numb, completely numb. maybe he was in denial, or maybe it hadn’t hit him yet, but he couldn’t fathom the fact his dad was dead. 

“wil?” techno’s voice was quiet, coming from the doorway. dirt covered his clothes, having changed out of the ones soaked with his father’s blood. he’d ripped them up, thrown them out the window and watched the wind carry the cloth way. he never wanted to touch it again. “i did it.” wilbur had told techno he wanted phil to be buried beside the house, and techno agreed, getting to work as wilbur sat inside.

the brown haired male stood, placing down the cup of cocoa. he smiled weakly at techno, and his brother returned it just as weakly, both walking down the steps side by side. the numbness in his body only seemed to get worse as he stared down at the grave. “i don’t want him to be gone, techno.” 

lowering his eyes, techno couldn’t utter a word. he was speechless. his throat burnt from the amount of screaming and crying he’d done. “do you wanna crave something on the gravestone? i wanna put something on it. we can’t leave it blank.” when his brother nodded, techno reached to his belt and grabbed a knife, passing it to him.

wilbur took it, stepping towards the grave. his hands shook, chest feeling empty. his throat screamed at him to just cry, but he couldn’t. he just stared numbly. crouching down, he gripped the knife tightly and began carving into the rock techno had cut and placed on the head of the grave. it was silent as he aggressively carved the words into the stone. until he stood, stepping back, away from it.

dad. you will be forever missed. we love you.

inhaling sharply, techno took the knife from wilbur’s shaking hands. he stepped towards the grave and crouched down, gripping the stone as he used one hand to carve in his own hands. it took less time then wilbur’s did, but his breaths were more uneven as he did it. 

you were the best dad. thank you. you mean the universe to us.

returning to wilbur’s side, he put the knife away eyes staying on the grave. something grabbed his hand, and he looked down. it was wilbur, his hand gripping techno’s like it was his lifeline. a week ago, he would have yelled at him in disgust, but as they stood there, techno held his hand back. 

“he’d be proud of us.” wilbur was quiet, unwilling to disrupt the moment. not for one second did he look away from the grave. he couldn’t. knowing his father lay under the ground, a foot away from him, dead, made him want to vomit. 

tugging on his hand gently, techno smiled softly. “he was proud of us.” he corrected in a quiet voice. “he fucked up sometimes, and was a shit dad sometimes, but he loved us. he never stopped loving us and being proud of us.” his words made silence fall between the brothers. wilbur let his first tears fall, but he was silent, brows furrowed. techno’s throat was clogged, eyes burning from the amount he’d been crying.

“techno?”

“yeah?”

“can i hug you?”

“yeah.”

wilbur swivelled on his feet, throwing his arms around techno’s shoulders. he didn’t react when techno returned the hug, just rested his head on his shoulder. “he’s dead. he’s actually gone.” he felt himself crumble to the floor, techno falling with him. he finally allowed himself to cry. and he did more than cry. he screamed, and he yelled. he screamed and he cried until his throat ached, his vocal cords burnt, his mouth dried, and until he ran out of tears.

the entire time, techno sat there, holding him. he was crying, body jolting when he sobbed. but he stayed for wilbur, he remained crying, fighting through his own heart-wrenching sobs to comfort his brother.

two broken sons, crying on their father’s grave, just wanting to be okay again.

the next morning, they didn’t mention it. they didn’t talk about the hours they spent on the floor. actually, they didn’t say anything to each other. techno told him he was going out, and that’s it, he walked out the door and walked away. wilbur sat on the floor, staring at the fire that was blazing. all he heard in his head was his father’s voice, and all he saw before him were memories flashing by. it hurt him, so bad. 

one minute he was sat by the fire, the other he was on his feet, pacing the room, trying to tear his mind off the memories. as he paced, his eyes landed on something. a green cloak, hanging on the wall, beside the door, accompanied by a green striped hat beside it. his body stopped, eyes glued to the items of clothing. he didn’t want to touch them, he didn’t want to ruin them, ruin his father’s beloved items. those were his. he wore those. he was dead. and those were his.

wilbur didn’t dare touch them, but he wandered towards them, eyes glassing over. he remembered when phil found him and techno outside in the cold, wilbur trying to warm up his brother, who was so used to the heat of the nether. phil had calmed down, then wrapped them in that same coat, swooping them out and flying into the air. it had been so long since phil flew them around. and they’d never do it again. phil would never yell at them from across the field when they trained, he’d never swoop them into his arms and carry them through the sky, he’d never stretch his wings out as he defended them from danger. he would never speak to them again. they’d never see him again. he wouldn’t be sat the table, or stood at the counter making breakfast at 7am. because he was fucking dead.

but wilbur didn’t want him to be dead.

he wanted him to reassure him everything was okay again. he wanted to be woken up by him shoving him off the bed with a laugh and a grin. he wanted to be protected by him again. he wanted his dad back, so bad. he would do anything to get his dad back. to be held, to be flown around, to be protected. a part of himself was missing without phil. he wanted him back.

overwhelming rage swarmed his stomach, tears spilling down his cheeks. he clenched his hands into fists, nails digging into his palm. with a yell, he swung his hand towards the wall, knuckles connecting with the hard wood. his hand flared up in pain, knuckles cracking, but he didn’t care.

wilbur was angry. he was angry at phil. angry at everything. he was so mad at phil. he left him, just fucking left him. he never said goodbye to him, didn’t say anything to him. how fucking dare he? wilbur hated him. he hated him for leaving, for dying, for leaving wilbur alone without a dad. for leaving tommy and techno without a dad. wilbur hated him for dying. because dying meant leaving, it meant leaving wilbur alone, it meant wilbur would never hear his voice again and would never receive a hug from him again. and he hated that. so he hated him.

wilbur hated phil for dying and leaving him alone.

his body crumbled to the ground, head in his hands. a scream tore past his lips, and he grabbed the closets item to him, throwing it across the room with all his strength. his breaths were heaving, jaw clenched tightly. his body was shaking, nails digging into the skin of his leg as he gripped his knees. he felt alone. it was rare wilbur felt alone, but in that moment, he felt more alone than he’d ever felt. old friends that hated him, a brother who no longer had his anchor against the voices in his head, a brother he betrayed and hurt over and over, and a dad who died in a way he didn’t even know. he had nothing.

time vanished into thin air as wilbur sat there, crying until he was too dehydrated to cry anymore. and he still remained until techno walked in, covered in splatters of blood and holding his axe with a deathly grip. neither exchanged any words, techno helping him to his feet and holding him as he swayed, eyes staring ahead with no life in them. wilbur was sat on the couch, where a blanket was slung over the couch. but all it smelt of was his father, and he held back the urge to scream and fling it across the room. techno had walked out, into the kitchen. 

neither knew what the other was feeling. techno didn’t keep wilbur up to date with what happened in his head, only phil had the privilege of knowing what to do in those situations. and wilbur was never one to open up to his brothers, bottling up until he burst it all out to a friend. they were polar opposites. and though they had always been close, never shared secrets with one another, almost like it was a silent agreement they made as children. but not they had no one else but each other. so as techno sat down and handed wilbur a cup of tea, they both knew an awkward and tense conversation would be following. 

“where did you go?”

techno looked up from the way he was watching the liquid splash against the side of his mug, a heavy sigh following. “hunting.” his voice had changed since the previous night. his walls had been built back up, enclosing any emotion inside of it. phil was gone. he had no one to trust anymore. “the voices demand blood, a lot, they like it when i kill. they want me to hurt people. a few years go, phil taught me a way to stop myself from hurting friends and family. to go hunting, kill any animal i see, avoid people.” he sounded so casual, but the look in his eyes told wilbur it haunted him. the things he had done, they replayed in his mind and flashed before his eyes when he slept. he recognised the look of trauma, regret, internalised anger: he saw it in the mirror too much.

directing his gaze to the window, wilbur stared at the trees in the distance. “is that why phil never allowed us to play fight as kids after that one time?” he looked back to techno, who was staring at the table.

his response was short, “he feared i’d get carried away and hurt you, badly.”

all those years ago, wilbur had convinced himself phil was a bad father. he was picking favourites, that he spent all his time with techno because he was disappointed in him and tommy. when, truthfully, he was protecting them. he’d always been protecting them. he was too caught up in his saviour complex to realise phil had always been helping them. he winced when he remembered the times he yelled at phil, screaming at him until his throat ran dry. his accusations were never right. a surge of agoy ran through him, remembering the way phil would stand there and not retaliate, just let wilbur yell, the words carving into his heart like a dagger. but wilbur never knew he would cry after those nights. 

he didn’t realise he’d began to cry until techno grabbed his wrist softly. he wiped under his eyes with his sweater, looking anywhere but his brother. ”techno,” he hummed in response, “how did dad die?” they both knew the question was coming, but an uncomfortable silence ran through the air. “please, techno.”

techno shifted in his chair. he looked to be already fighting tears. “dad never stopped regretting killing you. he got nightmares about it almost every night.” techno tapped his fingers on the mug. wilbur recognised it as the tune to the song they used to sing as children. he didn't know how to feel about it. “so when dream offered a way for him to bring you back, he took it up.” techno saw how wilbur’s entire body tensed, his breathing stopping. “only flaw? he had to die for it. and he only had one life left.”

there were no more words exchanged. techno didn’t flinch when wilbur stood up, chair flipping due to the speed he stood. he didn’t move a muscle when wilbur walked out of the house, air thick with tension. his head went in his hands when wilbur screamed outside, a scream he knew sounded the same to when he was watching phil die. 

all they had now was each other.

a broken boy with voices in his head, ones that kept him up, ones that tortured him, that demand he hurt the only people he loved. and an even more broken boy, that had been dead for months, being revived only to be met with a destroyed country, a family pulled apart by the seams, and a dead father. they had to support each other. because they sure as hell didn’t have anyone else.

so that’s what they did. it was an unspoken promise, to protect each other, and to support each other. they alternated between each other. on one day, techno would look after the house, the pets, make food while the other remained in bed, and the next it would be wilbur while techno dealt with the voices. they were brothers. it was what their father would have wanted. them to support each other, open up, be the close brothers they once were when very young. phil always loved seeing the rare, genuine moments they’d have together as children. they knew all phil would have wanted after his death, was for his sons to love each other. they didn’t want to disappoint their dad.

wilbur was the only one who visited phil's grave on a regular basis. techno avoided it, he didn’t want to cry. sometimes he would whisper into the air, a message to his dad, but he would never sit beside his grave like wilbur did. wilbur did it once a week, every other week he would play a few songs. but he always spared time to talk.

“techno fixed the bee farm, he said you struggled with it sometimes. he fixed it.” wilbur was laying beside the grave, hands linked on his stomach. he liked to imagine he was watching the stars with his dad. “i made a new song. i wish you could hear it.” a soft smile overtook his features. it was the same one phil would always tease him for. it was his loving smile, as phil called it. the smile was rare, his family being the only ones to see it. phil liked to say his eyes sparkled when he smiled like that, and he radiated warmth and kindness. wilbur always groaned every time he said it. but wilbur would do anything to hear him say it again.

the snow was falling on top of him as he looked up at the stars. he could hear techno inside, shuffling around pots as he prepared their dinner.

wilbur turned his head, so he could see the grave from the corner of his eye. he’d smoothed it down, so there was no jagged pieces. it looked nicer, like he deserved. “we learnt how to cook an actual meal without getting hurt. you always said you wanted us to.” he sighed, returning his gaze to the dark sky above. “i hope you’re proud of us. who we’ve become. it’s all we could ask, for you to be proud.”

the silence that followed felt like a stab with a dagger. he would kill to hear phil saying he was proud of them, just one more time. he wanted a one more time for everything. he wished to be able to spend one more day with his dad. to smile, laugh, tease. anything and everything. he would do anything to go back in time, to be able to convince him to not sacrifice his life for his.

in wilbur’s opinion, phil mattered way more than he did.

maybe phil was a bad dad sometimes, but he didn’t descend into insanity in front of the youngest in their family and destroy their entire country in front of him - maybe he did the last one, but he had a reason for it. wilbur thought of any reason to convince himself phil’s life mattered over his. so much more. he thought about it very night. how much happier techno would be if phil remained alive and he remained as a ghost. how much better their lives would be. it wouldn’t be a dark future, where they wake up with emptiness in their stomachs and a silent home. instead, they’d wake up with a smile, to the sound od humming as phil cooked some sort of breakfast.

he wanted that. not whatever this was.

“i wish you didn’t do it,” wilbur spoke like his dad could hear him, “i wish you were still here,” wilbur wished he could hear him, “i’d rather i be dead over you,” wilbur wished he would get a response, “please come back, dad.”

silence. it was deafening. it was teasing. he wasn't getting his dad back, the earth mocked, he wouldn’t get any sort of response. no matter how much he screamed and he cried and he begged, phil was staying dead. there was no getting him back.

and it made wilbur feel sick.

“i’m sorry, this is my fault.” wilbur sat straight, shoulders slumping as he curled up into himself. he wanted to disappear. “if it weren’t for me, you’d still be alive, with techno. It’s all my fault.” as much as techno denied it, wilbur knew it was his fault. phil died to bring him back. wilbur was even the one that forced him to kill him in the first place. everything was wilbur’s fault nowadays. it was building a weight onto his shoulders. and the fact his father died because of him was like a tonne of bricks,

there was the soft creak of the door. then techno’s face appeared, leaning over the banister. he looked solemn. “dinner is ready.” and he turned away, entering the home once more.

heaving a sigh, wilbur pulled at his sweater. “i’m sorry, for everything.” getting to his feet, the coldness wrapped around him instantly, reminding him just how numb he felt inside. “i love you dad, i hope you can still love me after everything.” wilbur turned and left.

he didn’t feel how the wind picked up in response.


End file.
